THIRTY-TWO
An overwhelming stench arose from the old shed – drowned rats, maggots swarming over the bloated bodies, mould growing over soggy cardboard, a broken bottle spilling its contents over the saturated concrete floor. ‘s**t a brick!’ Cal exclaimed. ‘I didn’t realise the shed leaked.’
‘How long since you last opened it?’ Emma asked, stepping back.
‘Dunno. Not much time for gardening, these days.’
‘Got any gardening gloves?’
‘Try the kitchen drawer near the sink.’
‘What about facemasks?’
‘Maybe.’
Emma turned on her heel and fled to the sanctuary of a well-ventilated house. Clearing the shed was going to take far longer than anticipated, and she doubted it would prove suitable for storing the supplies intended for Bay-enders and aged aunts. She found several pairs of gardening
